


Live Beautifully (A Collection of Ginzura Scenes)

by rivertem



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universes, Bodyguard!Katsura, Crossdressing, Fantasy AU, Idol AU, Kumicho!Gintoki, M/M, Mafia AU, Yakuza AU, possible ooc as I find myself sometimes too serious for a gintama work lol, zurako - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivertem/pseuds/rivertem
Summary: While I do consider myself an artist, every now and then I feel inspired to write a snippet of a scene from either canon or various AUs that I create and indulge in. They mostly just sit on my computer and do nothing, and I only often share them with extremely close friends. But now I feel I should put them out there, as both a way of archiving and for even the slightest possibility of inspiring anyone.So, a place to share my collection of ginzura scenes I have written, featuring the AUs I am most fond of: yakuza, fantasy, and idol.





	1. Idol!AU: War of Hormone

**Author's Note:**

> Idolverse! This scene was written while listening to BTS's "War of Hormone". Zurako appearance.

Gintoki doesn’t think he’s ever stared at Zura during a performance more than he has in the last twenty seconds they’ve been onstage. He knows everyone in the audience has cameras, knows that he has to tear his eyes away otherwise they’ll all catch him – it’ll be on social media tomorrow, the fans will notice, the agency will notice, _ Zura will notice _ – but he can’t. His gaze is glued to Katsura’s lithe form sauntering across the stage – the skirt they’ve fitted him in, the stockings he’s slid on. For god’s sake, the fucking _ bra _ he’s wearing under that lace shirt.

The team backstage have tied Zura’s natural hair up in pigtails, no need for a wig. Given him a warm smokey eye, a sweet blush to his cheeks, and gradient lips that somehow make them look even more kissable than they ever have before. And heaven forbid Gintoki forgets the heels that Zura’s wearing: simple and black, that Katsura’s somehow walking in like a goddamn _ natural_.

Gintoki hates it. Hates that Zura looks so fucking _ perfect _.

It was a gimmick that all the male bands did at one stage or another – cajole their prettiest member into women’s clothing, have a laugh, provide some fan service. Nothing new.

Only Gintoki was sure it had gone horribly, _ horribly _ wrong, because this wasn't funny. This wasn’t funny in the _ slightest _ . It was real, and his throat was dry, and if Zura fucking twirled around _ one more time _ Gintoki was damn sure he was about to pop a boner there and then, a bulge in his jeans for the whole damn world to see.

The asshole was enjoying playing dress up, too. Flicking his black hair, batting his eyelashes, cocking his hip; every move he made earning an excited scream from their crowd. It was the choreography they’d practiced, sure, but all done up like this, Katsura had a whole different attitude than he’d ever had in practice. He was living the fucking fantasy.

It wasn’t just Gintoki who had noticed, either. Takasugi could see it, too. It had only been a split second, but Gintoki had seen the smaller man’s jaw drop, then almost immediately snap shut as he caught himself.

The only one unfazed was Sakamoto. _ Of course. _ He was expertly dancing circles around Zura at the front of the stage with a huge, blinding grin on his face, acting like he wanted this _ girl _ in front of him more than life itself, while Zura – no, what had they all called him backstage? _ Zurako _ – acted like she couldn’t be more bored, offering a yawn and roll of her eyes. But there was a slight twitch at Zura’s lips, a smile wanting to return Sakamoto’s beneath the act.

Gintoki’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d never wanted to be lead dancer more than he did right now.

Becoming aware he had lost focus, Gintoki momentarily panicked. _ Fuck, what verse are we up to? _ Until Takasugi stepped forward to catch Zurako’s attention.

Good. A marker. He knew his moves from here until his rap began.

Gintoki let himself half heartedly mouth the words as he stared at the new pair in front of him. Watched the small bastard run his hand across the small of Zurako’s back as he passed behind her, giving the girl a quick wink before performing to the audience.

_That _ hadn’t been part of the choreography, Gintoki would have remembered _ that _.

His stare had turned to _ glaring daggers _ as he watched Takasugi essentially flirt with Zurako onstage, letting his hand linger a bit too long on the girl, which Katsura did _ nothing _ about. Watched them perform their part, Takasugi beckoning Zurako with his hand as he walked backwards, Zurako following. Following until…

Fuck, following until what?

The chorus finished, and Gintoki blanked.

Thankfully on autopilot, he began walking forward and opening his mouth without too much thought necessary, but as he made his way to the front of the stage he felt something wrong, saw the world turn a bit too suddenly, his feet sliding from beneath him as he tripped forward ungracefully to the floor, at least able to reflexively shield himself from the brunt of the impact.

Katsura’s hand had flown to cover his mouth in worry as he looked towards the scene, Sakamoto waiting a shocked beat before moving in to help. But Gintoki was a damn professional, and he was only disoriented at worst, and the backing track had saved the lost few words of his rap. He could improvise. It was fine.

So he started to sing, pretended it was part of the show, that he’d tripped falling for Zurako – which wasn’t really that far from the mark – and turned to his back, bracing himself with his elbows to look up at his girl who was–

Right there, apparently. Had slipped back on the mask once he’d realised Gintoki was okay.

Gintoki stared up at her even as he kept rapping, a smirk on her lips as she played the game; lifted a foot to place it gently against Gintoki’s chest, lightly trying to push him back down to the ground. Gintoki wasn’t having it. He boldly raised a hand to her leg, a challenge. Slid it up over the thin material of the Zurako’s stocking until she raised a brow and removed the heel against Gintoki’s sternum so he could quickly push himself up and move in, wasting no time in plastering himself to Zurako’s front.

Gintoki crowded in as he continued to punch out his rap, pressing forward, resting his forehead against Zurako’s as she pressed back. A smile was on her lips, her hands suddenly between them and at Gintoki’s torso, running them down, down…

The screams from the crowd were vaguely registered, only because Gintoki was so focussed on Zurako’s – _ Zura’s _ – eyes. He could see the flecks of gold this close, the long lashes that framed them, the way they stared back at him as he finished his verse. Could feel the warm press of lips on his–

_What?_

Gintoki had to double check he was still conscious for a brief second, because he was damn sure he’d just short circuited. Since there was no way, no _ way _ that… that _ Zura _ … _ onstage _…

But the wet pressure at his lips was still there, and he was one hundred percent certain this was still Katsura against him, that it was Katsura he was holding, that it was Katsura swiping a tongue across his lips too fast for the audience to catch.

And then it was over. Just like that the chorus had begun, and Zurako had pulled away as if nothing had happened to lean back against a half-shocked, half-furious Takasugi who had flattened himself against Zurako’s back, just like they had practiced.

After Katsura had kissed Gintoki… _ not _ like they had practiced…

Gintoki was glad his rap was over, was glad that the end of this chorus required Zurako to push them both away at the chests and step forward to be taken by the hand by Sakamoto, who Gintoki swore he could hear happily laughing off to the side.

Gintoki was glad, because it gave him time to excuse himself to the back of the stage to continue as planned. He didn’t even feel anything when Sakamoto strayed from their choreography – really, enough had been fucked up already, what was one more thing – and lifted Zura up onto his shoulders, the two of them laughing like a real couple; Sakamoto holding Zura’s hands to keep him from falling, Takasugi practically screaming behind them to _ be careful _ after running over to make sure Zura’s skirt was still covering everything that needed to be covered.

It was a mess. The whole thing.

So when the end of the song drew near and the canons fired confetti into the crowd, and Sakamoto carefully began to kneel down so Zura could get off of his shoulders safely, Gintoki didn’t see anything wrong with taking confident steps over to the three of them, moving to hook an arm under a very surprised Zura’s legs, the other behind his back, and lifting him up bridal style.

Katsura, Sakamoto and Takasugi exchanged looks between each other, but Gintoki continued to stare out into the crowd until the others followed suit, finding their places.

The three of them still standing upright bowed to their audience like nothing was out of the ordinary, the fourth in Gintoki’s care, laughing in what sounded like disbelief, an arm thrown around Gintoki’s shoulders and a finger heart offered by his free hand to the crowd.

Then Gintoki turned without a word, still carrying Zura as he made his way to the wings and offstage, eager to be the first out so he didn’t have to talk to the others about this… whatever _ this _ was.

He could feel Zura’s hand against his front now, lightly clutching at his shirt, and he was confused more than anything to find the feeling _ satisfying_.

His steps unconsciously quickening, Gintoki hastily turned a corner, then another, and finally found a couch, depositing Katsura on it before moving to run a hand through his hair as he looked for their stylists so he could get changed into his next outfit for the night.

Katsura stared after him, his breathing heavy, a bead of sweat trickling down the pale skin of his neck.

“Gintoki…” he tried gently.

Gintoki only shook his head, refusing to look back. “Not now, Zura,” he replied, his tone sounding terse as he fought to keep it steady. “We’ll talk about it later.”


	2. Yakuza: Generous Position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yakuza AU~
> 
> Although I try to do extensive amounts of research when world building, I think this AU was the hardest to get proper information on. I watched documentaries, movies, tried to look up books in my library (though I think there isn't much in terms of western written media than I would assume there would be Japanese), but there may still be some things wrong, so I do apologise!
> 
> Brief preface for context: Gintoki and Katsura grew up together with Takasugi before Katsura had to move away. Gintoki has blocked out most of those times, but Katsura remembers. Zura has a vendetta against yakuza, until he finds out Gintoki has become head of Shoka-kai, a family in Kabukicho. When he gets caught trying to impede a meeting, eventually Gintoki offers him the position of his bodyguard to keep an eye on him. Katsura ends up conflicted between his revenge mission and his adoration for Gintoki.
> 
> A very Gintoki POV scene, so we don't get to know much about what's going on in Katsura's head. But trust me, he's not as compliant as he seems in this lol.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Gintoki accepted Katsura into the Shoka-kai and gave him the generous position of his own personal bodyguard, he hadn’t expected the situation to turn out like this.

The moment he’d started requesting for women with certain features – namely long, black hair – to accompany him late at night, he knew something was amiss. When he’d had to dismiss one because he couldn’t get it up anymore without imagining a hazel eyed stare and a familiar, stern masculine voice biting back at him, he knew something was _ severely _ wrong.

He’d tried to deny it at first, but the problem was persistent. Especially when the cause of said problem followed him around every minute of every day. Well, that was a bodyguard’s job, but nevertheless.

But it wasn’t just the problem of Katsura being a man. Gintoki was the kumicho, for starters. The oyabun. He had an image to uphold, a reputation. And he didn’t lay his hands on subordinates, for obvious reasons. Too complicated. _ Especially _ when the person in question was his bodyguard.

“Generous position” had been somewhat of a lie. Being a bodyguard wasn’t the most glamorous of yakuza jobs. In fact, apart from menial, it was almost suicidal. But at least he hadn’t given Katsura up to any of his wakagashiras. In these times, _ that _ would be a death sentence. In the beginning he hadn’t cared one way or the other, but now… if he ever lost Katsura for any reason…

Gintoki sighed, dragged a hand across his tired face before lighting up another cigarette.

This was not how a boss was meant to feel about his _ bodyguard_, for fucks sake. It was best to _ not get attached_.

He’d keep telling himself that, anyway. Try to continue convincing himself that it wasn’t already too late.

“Boss?” The question came from across the room, the man entering through the only door, taking cautious steps on deep red carpet.

_ Speak of the devil_.

Katsura seemed to be making sure he wasn’t intruding on anything, before closing the door behind.

“What did you want?” Gintoki leaned back in his chair, already irritated by the sight of him.

Katsura stood up straight. “I was wondering if you needed me for anything else. Otherwise, I was considering retiring to my quarters for the evening.”

Gintoki raised a brow. Needed him for anything?

He stared back at the man, considered the question.

While Katsura was his bodyguard, there was a definite lack of trust between them. At least on Gintoki’s part. Strangely, the moment they had taken Katsura into custody after finding him trying to blow up a section of Hasegawa’s company, then offered him the position of Gintoki’s bodyguard, a switch seemed to have been flicked within the man. Despite the life-threatening nature of the job, Katsura seemed immediately dedicated to what was entrusted to him, like he couldn’t imagine being anything else, or didn’t want to be.

But Katsura had an extensive past working with various groups across the city. Though the former rebel had never seemed to let slip even the tiniest piece of any information he’d acquired over his years, that didn’t mean he couldn’t take information from them and offer it to someone else. Gintoki wondered, if under enough pressure, would Katsura betray them? Or if his silence was exclusive to Shoka-kai, and for anyone else he would freely hand any and all information over.

Gintoki didn’t know what to make of him, and he certainly couldn’t tell just by looking at him.

He motioned Katsura over, to which the man dutifully obliged, walking around the desk and facing Gintoki, looking as unconcerned as ever. Until the kumicho spoke.

“Get on your knees,” Gintoki said simply, resting his cigarette on the ashtray atop his desk.

“What?”

Gintoki didn’t waver. “I haven’t had sex in a month. You know that much, since you’re always outside my door when I have company. So get on your knees and suck me. That’s what I need.”

If Katsura was perturbed by the command, his expression didn’t show it. Only the bob of an Adam’s apple as he swallowed and a few blinks of long eyelashes confirmed that he was even processing it.

A long silence consumed the room, with Gintoki expecting outright refusal and Katsura thinking, until the latter finally averted his gaze and made his decision. Gintoki’s eyes widened as Katsura slowly lowered himself to the floor between his boss’s legs, fixing empty eyes on his task.

Katsura was clearly at a loss, not knowing what to do as he raised his hands to Gintoki’s thighs, running hands over the smooth material of his pants before tentatively reaching up to unbuckle his belt.

Gintoki swallowed as he watched it happen, and his dick twitched before he could stop it.

Without warning, he used his bare foot to shove Katsura away, a push to his chest sending him backwards.

“Jesus,” Gintoki breathed, quickly standing to zip his pants back up. “Are you _ insane_? Your hands were shaking.”

Katsura was breathing heavily, clearly confused, face flushed a shade of pink that Gintoki would dare to call beautiful. “You asked me to…”

The oyabun snorted. “Do you just do whatever people tell you to?”

“But… you’re the kumicho…”

“Were you really prepared to do this kind of thing to please me, just because I’m your boss?”

Gintoki had never seen Katsura at a loss for words before, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find words. He wondered how easy it would be lean down and claim that mouth. To strip him, bend him over his desk until he had him screaming his name.

_ Too complicated_.

Gintoki shook his head. “Disgusting,” he lied. “Why would I want you to actually blow me? Don’t take everything so seriously.”

He watched Katsura grit his teeth and avert his eyes, hanging his head in embarrassment before wordlessly lifting himself from the floor. The man brushed at his suit, straightening the ends of his cuffs, all the while staring at his feet and letting his hair curtain his face, trying to hide it.

“I understand,” Katsura mumbled. “I’m sorry, Gi– boss. Can I… may I be excused?”

It was an inner struggle as Gintoki tried not to immediately take back what he’d said. He almost felt sorry. But instead, he sat back down, picking what was left of his cigarette back up and waving his hand towards the door as a gesture of dismissal.

“Thank you, boss.” Katsura bowed before turning on his heel, hastily making his way out.

When the door had clicked closed, Gintoki flatly echoed those words out to no one in particular. He ran a hand through his hair, the product in it to slick it back already beginning to lose effect, as he stared at where Katsura had left, taking a drag from his cigarette.

_ Fuck_. What was this resolve the man had? Was Katsura _ actually _prepared to do anything for him if he asked? And what had Gintoki ever done for Katsura to make the man decide on going through with something so intimate?

Gintoki rubbed at his eyes. Really, he wasn’t one to ask for a blowjob from his subordinates, for reasons already stated. Had never even _ considered _ it. But fuck, now he couldn’t help but think what it would have been like if he’d let Katsura continue… what it would have felt like… what Katsura would have _ looked _ like…

“Damn it,” Gintoki cursed, pressing his palm against his crotch. Another cold shower, then.


End file.
